Waters of thy Harte
by RenjiMarkings
Summary: Hezekiah is a Prince of Conquerors. Theron is a Clumsy Mage. What will happen when love, country and lineage get in the way of these two lovers?


It was purely love at first sight for him...or fall. It had happened when he was a young lad, just had his ears trimmed to look more like a 'normal' human would. If anyone of the nine nations could be called human. He had almost been knocked completely on his ass, the Eldest Prince of the current King laying on top of him in a crumpled heap. Those beautiful blue-green eyes entranced him as they stared dumbfoundedly at him, the eyes darting to his ears and his servant's clothing.

_'Say a word and you'll get a whipping. Don't tell anyone, not even my father.'_

He never said a word. The Prince had gotten to his feet, reshouldering his bag and fleeing the castle through a hole in the palace garden wall that lead to the outside world. /p

A world he wouldn't see for years....

Now Theron was High Mage of Grayharte, Master of the element of water...and now being screamed at by the King. Hezekiah, the Eldest, had fled from the castle once more against his father's word.

"How many times must he grate on my very fine nerves!" The tyrant bellowed, shaking his fists in the air them bringing them to bang on the hard, hollow-sounding desk in front of him. "How many?!"

"P-Please, your Majesty, calm down. I shall send the guards to retrieve His Highness immediately."Theron studdered as he turned to do what he had suggested. A heavy drop into the thick leather seat, however, made him turn.

"Wait."The King sighed. "He'll just avoid them. Trained him too well. I want you to go after him."

"M-me, your highness?"Theron almost squeaked, but kept his voice at insides flipping upside-down in glee. Glorious day! He would be in less than five feet from the idol of his heart! On the outside, he could keep a straight face. The King didn't know about his fondness towards the Prince.

"Who else?!"The large man bellowed. "Leave!"

"Yes!"The Vanyr said, straightening out his robes, bowing and taking his leave. When the guards closed the doors behind him as he left, he immediately thought on what he would say, do and act around the Prince.

Nothing. That's what. It wasn't his place to act in such an unsavory manner...just for an ounce of attention from the Prince.

An hour rolled by, the High Mage had packed a small bag just in case things would take longer than necessary. He could always transport the Prince by force, but what is the fun of being pulled back to the place he probably hated the most? Shouldering the bag, he left down the corridor where his bedroom was located with a view of the Palace temple. A guard escorted him to the main gate where he left, staff in hand. Once he was at the other side of the drawbridge, the mage let out a long breath, pausing to close his eyes.

Across forests...the air sweet with dew...the water that flowed freely...

Theron's eyes opened, his eyes darting to the right direction. It was...nifty, being able to scry and find things easily. Hezekiah was always the one whom he kept a i very /i close eye on. As he neared the forest, he hiked up his long layered green robes, trudging through the thick brush. There was no path through that section from what he could see so there was only what he could sense. As he trudged through, he noticed that there were awkward hoof-prints here and there. Most likely, the Prince had borrowed one of the King's finest steeds to carry him away to the freedom past the gates. And fast.

The trail winded around, eventually slowing down to where the prints were not only father apart but lightening up some. As Theron raised his head, he could hear the sounds of trickling water. His pace quickened, pushing through the ugly brambles that tore up his legs and snagged on his clothes.

"Your Highness!"Theron called out, hearing the water seemingly jerk. An almost audible exhale followed.

So close...Just another bush to hop over and...

WHAP~!

Just as Theron had managed to keep his pace as he leapt over the bushes, his pants had gotten snagged on the thick bramble, causing him to leap...then fall in mid-air, hitting the ground. A stream of mumbled curses insued.

"I apologize, your Highness, this brush is very thick."He said, looking up with a dirtied face.

The Prince's face was neutral as always. Hezekiah was sitting on a rock, his feet dipped into the rippling stream. His boots and socks had been tossed with his sword and overcoat, leaving him in just an undershirt and rolled up pants. A very country-bumpkin look if it weren't the fact that the Prince was...elegant in all matters of his physical features.

"That's fine... What are you doing here?"The bumpkin Prince asked smoothly as he waded from the stream to land, moving over to help untangle the gangly mage's legs from the brush.

"His Majesty wishes you home, Sire. It's a young Prince's duty t--"

"That's not what I meant."Hezekiah interrupted. "What are YOU, specifically, doing here?"

Theron did not quite know how to answer that one. Once his legs were free, he slid them underneath him with a tender hiss. His legs were cut up, the deep green trousers he wore torn nearly to shreads.

"His Majesty requested it. It appears the guards are not strong enough to handle His Highness."The Mage answered, bowing his head. It was forbidden to gaze upon him unless asked to do so directly...which he did often anyway. How could anyone not look?

The mage's response managed to earn him a smirk graced upon Hezekiah's lips. However, it fell right back to a thin line, the blue-green eyes falling to the Vanyr's injured legs.

"Your legs are injured."He stated dryly.

In light of their conversation, Theron hadn't noticed his legs much. This was just something to take care of later. "It's not a dire wound to take care of...Your Highness's concern is kind but unneeded."He said politely, bowing a little lower.

"I suggest you take care of it now, Mage."Hezekiah addressed, moving and picking him up easily. Theron paled and blushed furiously.

"Ah! Your highness will soil his clothes if he does this! Please!"Theron said, refusing to squirm but making it clear. Hezekiah finally set the mage down but close to the water. The amethyst-eyed vanyr looked up at him with confusion and relief but immediately got right back up and moved several feet away.

"What's wrong this time?"Hezekiah frowned.

"Traditions, Sire. I cannot be so close."Theron answered humbly. This seemed to grate on the Prince's nerves some.

"You can come closer. No one is around and we are far from eyeshot or earshot. Your legs are all torn up and you ARE a water Mage. Heal yourself."Hezekiah said plainly. Theron's head seemed to perk up but his eyes stayed directly looking at the ground. Picking up his robes and staff, he limped over to the stream, plopping down to take care of it.

From over his shoulder, he could feel the Prince's hawk-like eyes staring at him as he rolled up his long robe sleeves and slipped his arms into the cool flowing liquid. The light that came from it resembled the shine on the stream from the sun, the individual cuts and scrapes on his legs healing slowly.

"Thank you, your highness."He said, his shoulders slumping a little. "If I may ask...Sire...Why must you run away?" He asked, looking over his shoulder. Hezekiah seem to stew on his question some, sitting back on his elbows lazily with a aristocratic frown.

p"It's not because of the King, if that's what you're asking...? I'm not sure of the reason myself. It's just...overwhelming at home."Hezekiah answered, watching Theron roll his sleeves back down and sit a little more relaxed if not stiff. His face was still flushed./p

"Oh..."Theron exhaled, before twitching a bit, looking over his shoulder quickly. With honed speed, he was up to his feet, wielding his staff. "Your Highness, get behind me."/p

p"What's wrong?"Hezekiah said, moving to his sword and standing with the blade wielded in his hand. Theron looked at him disagreeingly but looked back towards the direction of where the sounds were coming from. There was the pounding of hooves, the 'kya!' of men as the hurried their steeds over the brambles and eventually, the sight of Grayharte soliders in their presence, out of breath.

"Your Highness! Grayharte has been taken over! We're to escort you to safety at once!"


End file.
